Flocking Movement: Tincture
by Xazz
Summary: Right doesn't always mean correct. What happens when you go left, instead of right? Take the other path and change what is to come.
1. Tincture

Tincture

ˈtiNGkCHər

_noun_

1. a distilled, concentrated, herbal extract often used in medicine

2. a slight trace of something

_verb_

1. be tinged, flavored, or imbued with a slight amount of.

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	2. For You

Tincture is an anthology story much like Legacy. Only unlike Legacy which seeks to tell the in between scenes we don't get to see in FM for one reason or another Tincture is a distillation of 'what if'.

Nothing in Tincture is considered 'canon' by the FMverse, though there _is _truth in it. Time is not static and extremely small differences in the series of events can lead to an entirely different result.

Like Legacy there will be various povs not just Desmond's but since Altair is where a lot goes wrong, many of them will be about him. And none of the vignettes are connected. Each one is a separate time stream you are allowed to glimpse into but they do not touch and are completely self contained.

All chapters of Tincture will also have musical accompaniment if you wish to listen to it.

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For You by Angus & Julia Stone

At some point he knew he'd find him. For a man who claimed to never stay stagnant Cain had the same habits he'd had four centuries ago. Liked apartments above bakeries and florists, but not restaurants and the place had to have as many windows as the walls were capable of holding. Altair had scouted four such apartments so far. In a bobby's uniform all sorts of doors opened and he knew how to look sympathetic. The first four had been a family of six crammed into two rooms who ran the bakery; a young composer who lived in a cupboard of an apartment; a young couple, the man who worked in the florist shop downstairs; and the last had been an old woman with six cats who's children ran the bakery and lived several blocks down and insisted Altair come in for tea. He was on apartment five now and didn't know what to expect.

The owners of the bakery had let Altair right in through the back, saying their tenant was nice, quiet, and enjoyed toast and jam for breakfast in the morning. That could have been anyone though. Altair climbed the stairs to the apartment and went into Eagle Vision, but his surroundings were nothing but washed out and grey. No lightness, no hint of color. He held his left arm back a bit, flicking the hidden blade out silently in case it _was_ Cain, and knocked, calling, "Scotland Yard, open up under the order of her majesty Queen Victoria."

He waited, then he heard the locks coming undone. Three locks. Cain used three locks. He prepared himself. The door opened widely. The man standing in the doorway was a find Englishman with a waistcoat, finely manicured mustache, and ice blue eyes. Altair would recognize him anywhere. He didn't think and just flew at him, hidden blade ready.

Cain caught him in a great bear hug, "Hello brother," he said with all the mad joy he'd expected. "Knew you'd get my message."

Altair stabbed his flank, Cain released him and though blood flowed Cain didn't seem to notice. "I knew this day would come," Altair growled.

"Yeah, fancy that. So did I," Cain stepped deeper into his apartment, Altair followed, kicking the door closed behind him. "I mean, you told me," and he grinned.

"I should have killed you then," Altair said and lunged at him. Cain pushed him past him, smacking his back on the way into the wall.

"Trouble with that kid; we don't die, or you forget that bit?" Cain asked, his side was red with blood. "Wouldn't be surprised if you did, was always so troublesome getting any information into that thick skull of yours. Its like you _like_ being wrong all the time—!" Cain had to jump out of the way when Altair nearly managed to get another hit on him.

"Why Cain?" Altair growled, "Why do this?"

"Bored?" Cain asked glibly. "And had to get you to pay attention to me somehow kid," and Altair missed the longing in his voice. "This proved to be one of my fruitful attempts to get you to come find me at least."

"… One of?" Altair asked.

"Oh yes. Been waiting for this year. The year I'd kill all those _whores_ you pretended were good enough for you-

"Shut up!" Altair yelled and attacked again. Cain fended him off with his bare hands and that just infuriated him all the more.

"Been waiting so long for this year," Cain said even as he deflected each of Altair's attacks. "And I know you have been too-

"No!" Altair cried.

"Oh yes," Cain was suddenly in his face, grabbing his wrists, looming above him because despite being centuries older was over a head taller than Altair. "You've been waiting for this," he basically whispered, "because that means you were right. For once you were right." Altair tried to wrestle away from Cain's grip but his hands were like manacles. "And I've been thinking about what I was going to do today for a very long time," Cain said softly. Altair looked up at Cain with wide eyes and faster than Altair thought a human could move Cain had his hands around his neck. It was quick and Altair heard the crack of his own spine and could see the floor boards before it just all went black as he went Under the surface of death.

—

When Altair Woke the first thing he noticed was that he'd been stripped of his constable uniform, and weapons, and left in his small clothes and had been laid out on a pallet on the floor. His wrists were shackled above his head neatly to a metal beam, and his hands had been wrapped in some sort of cloth so he didn't have use of his fingers. The next thing that came to him was the smell. His mouth watered instantly at the smell of baking bread and roasted chicken with lemon and onions and garlic.

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was in Cain's apartment above the bakery still, and it was starting to get light out. But he couldn't see Cain, or a kitchen where the smell of chicken was coming from. His stomach rumbled, he was hungry. Which he expected.

Altair shoved himself against his shackles when Cain came into the room. He was wearing a new set of clothes and had a plate in his hand. Altair just wanted to get as far from him as possible. "Oh don't be like that Abel," Cain said, walking over to him calmly.

"Fuck you," he hissed.

"No, I don't think so," he sat in front of Altair's pallet. "Now stop that you'll hurt yourself if you keep up that position."

"What do you care?" Altair spat, but his arms did sort of hurt, all twisted up behind him.

Cain frowned a little, "I care a lot about you," he said. "Though I know I'm the last person you give a shit about. I'm still here, and I know you're hungry," he looked down at the plate and Altair's eyes darted to it. It was the lemon and onion chicken with potatoes. His stomach growled again.

"I don't want it," Altair said stubbornly.

Cain gave a little huff of a sigh, "Always so stubborn. Either you can let me feed you or you leave me with two options. I force feed you, or I put you Under again and hope you're in a more agreeing mood later."

Altair eyed him suspiciously, "What is it?" he asked.

"Chicken," Cain said, "The way you like it," and Altair glared at him. "Glare at me all you want boy, I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not this time."

"I'm not a boy," Altair hissed.

Cain sighed and sat back a bit, putting the plate down and Altair's eyes went to it immediatly. "And yet you act so _childish_. You know Micheal could have been spared if I'd been there," Altair stiffened. "He'd have been able to grow old with his wife and son, maybe have more children."

"I did everything I could for him," Altair said. Because he had. He'd tried to save Hawk. But there was nothing he could have done. The damage had been too great.

"And you didn't have to hide from Ezio all those years," Cain said, "you could have saved his family."

"If I did the future would fall apart."

"The _future_ you chose," Cain said, "the day you left me."

"I didn't come here to talk Cain. I came to stop you."

"Stop me? What makes you think you can do _anything_ to me? You are a bug. Maybe if it didn't take till stepping on you to do something we wouldn't be here," and Altair hated how rational Cain sounded. "You divined me into a monster. So a monster I became," Cain said angrily, "but whatever you have going on in that pea brained head of yours. I still care about you. Now are you going to eat or will you be stubborn with me and make me feed you?"

Altair hesitated. He wanted to tell Cain to shove it and bite his own tongue, drown in his own blood. He'd done it before, once when Templars had captured him, had tried to torture him. They'd thrown him into a gutter and the next morning he'd gotten up and walked off. But he didn't. Instead he scooted forward a bit and opened his mouth.

Cain picked up the plate and fed Altair the potatoes first. "I hate you," he told Cain.

"You want to," Cain said, cutting pieces of chicken. "But you don't."

"Yes I do. You did exactly what I feared you would-

Cain slapped him so hard he tumbled over, giving more of a startled cry than anything when his arms jerked back uncomfortably. "You fucking _idiot!_" he cried, "Did it never cross your fool head that I did this because of what you did? You leave me after all I do for you. After I remade you into a better person and not some sad old man living in the past, who can't move on or get over his first life. You told me I would do this, and then you waited to see, to _make sure_ I did. Well I did. I did exactly what you wanted, just like every other time. And you think you can hate me? I _made you_."

Altair had never been spoken to like that. "It didn't matter what I did. We'd always end up here," he said, pushing himself up awkwardly.

"Well we would be together here at least," Cain said.

Altair looked away from him, "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"So you learn an important lesson," Cain said.

"And what's that?" he nearly whispered.

"That I will love you like those mortals can't. They die, Altair," he looked up at Cain, Cain never called him Altair except when it was important. "Your wives will die. Your children will die. Your friends will die. Everyone you think you love will die except for us. Our kind are forever. Those whores I killed? They're nothing. They're _nothing_," he said more firmly, "You know I don't like to kill if I don't have to. But I am very good at it," Altair nodded meekly. It was like being talked to by a titan.

"They're dust, the only reason people will give a _shit_ about them is because I killed them. Because Jack the Ripper killed them. Not because they were good people, or because they loved their husbands or lovers or might have had fine singing voices or could fuck twenty men a night. They're nothing until I took them away, and no one will care. No one."

"I do," Altair growled.

"No you don't," Cain said. "You want to care but I know you-

"No you don't," he growled, "Not anymore."

"No, I do. And you don't care about those women. You just care I played out your future. That's all you care about, that the future comes to pass. Well it won't. Do you know why?" Altair said nothing, "Because the future is not in stone. The future the Apple showed you? Lies. All of it, lies."

"No," he said weakly.

"Yes. The Apple lies. Do you know why?" Altair said nothing. "I know you can hear it sometimes. The screaming, can't you?" and Altair's silence was enough. "It lies because it hates, because its angry, because it wants to ruin everything in this world. That is what Apples are _for_ Altair. They are _for_ destroying our kind. Just like you let it destroy you, and your ambition, your confidence. Now you're so worried about the future playing out the way the Apple said that you've just fucked it all up and played right into their hands. Ezio should be dead. _Micheal_ should be dead. You destroyed them instead."

"I gave Ezio a choice. He chose this," he growled, but it was without the heat he wanted.

"You went to him when he was dying and said you could help him kill the man he'd been hunting his entire life."

"How do you know that," Altair asked, bewildered.

"I know many things. Just because I don't use the Apple doesn't mean there aren't other vessels which can be used to scry. I've watched you fuck up across centuries to reach your prophosized future and now that you're here I'm here to tell you that won't be happening anymore. Even if I have to keep you on a leash. Your future is bullshit." Altair hunched. Cain kept beating him down and beating him down and everything he said Cain had a counter. A smart one too. "Eat," and Cain fed him the chicken. It was delicious and reminded him he was hungry.

He tried not to look upset when it was gone. It tasted like a long time ago, not Cairo, but India where they'd stayed in a little town along the coast. Everyone in the town knew Cain's name there, they'd smiled and waved and greeted him wherever he'd gone. He was an important man in that little town, though Altair hadn't known the language at the time. He hadn't needed to either, the only person he cared to talk to was Cain and Cain spoke Syrian Arabic. Cain had always cooked back then, because Altair was awful at it (he still kinda was). His favorite had been chicken with onions, garlic, and herbs, roasted over several hours till the skin was crispy and flaky and crunched between his teeth and the meat inside moist and savory. That was what Cain fed him now; his favorite.

Cain got up once the plate was empty and left him there on the pallet. Altair tried to get comfortable, but with his hands behind his back it was difficult. He hissed as he rolled his shoulders forward, popping both out of their sockets and snapped them back into place by pressing against the wall so his hands were now in his lap.

Cain didn't seem surprised by this, nor did he comment about it. He was back with more food, this time some sort of dark leafy vegetable with a thick sauce. Altair recognized this too but couldn't place the names. He could place the time though; Scandenavia, during the end of the age of vikings. Altair had stood out there for his dark and exotic looks, he'd bedded _so_ many women and probably sired a dozen children he didn't know about because their stay had been short. Cain had been more common there, though his eyes were too narrow and slanted to be one of them, his skin just a shade or two too dark, though he knew all the songs and dances and rituels and could drink anyone under the table. Altair wasn't allowed to drink though. He hadn't wanted too either.

Once that was gone Cain got up and left again. He came back with a big bowl of soup that must have cost a fortune. It was filled with rice noodles from Southeast Asia and thin slices of pork on top along with all sorts of green: sprouts, cilantro, onions, scallions, peppers both sweet and spicy, with an aftertaste he couldn't place but tasted like lemongrass. He could remember visiting villages along the river in a country that now no longer existed and eating food that tasted like this. Cain knew the names of all of the towns along the river and insisted on stopping at every water market they could. They'd fished off the end of a peer that had been old even then and caught fish as big as their arms, yelling with their new friends about the size of them while their wives rolled their eyes at them from the shore.

The next meal was beef ribs, slow cooked in the way he'd only ever had once but recognized as soon as he ate them. He couldn't remember the name of the tribe now, but they'd live along the horn of Africa and they'd shown up just in time for a wedding. Somehow Cain got them invited and they'd watched a hole dug in the ground and lined with coals. A whole cow had been slaughtered for the wedding. Neither of them knew the songs here, but it hadn't mattered. It had been fun. They'd danced and sung till they'd collapsed onto the dirt, sleeping well into the morning to celebrate again after learning the wedding night had been successful.

The last one Cain had was dessert. Steamed egg custard which he hadn't had like this since they'd been invited to a Chinese woman's home after they'd stopped to help her patch her roof since her husband was dead and her sons lived away from her. It was rich and creamy and so smooth. She'd fed them as payment for their help and they'd slept out in her garden under the stars and Cain had told him the name of every single one of them until he'd fallen asleep. He'd been so much younger than, happier, kinder, and so full of wonder.

That was when he broke.

Unbidden he just started crying, tears rolling down his face and he leaned over his lap so Cain wouldn't see, like he thought Cain didn't know. Cain just sat there as he did, trying not to shake and trying not to sob. He'd missed Cain so much and just tried to forget the time they'd spent together, where every day had been a wonder and Cain had found something interesting in everything. Even on days where they did nothing and there was nothing around. On those nights before they slept they'd get out their swords and train while their dinner cooked. They always fought hard before eating and passing out nearly on top of one another. He'd become such a bitter, angry, violent and jaded man since he'd left Cain, trying to find that happiness he'd given away. For what? For someone who wouldn't be born yet still for another hundred years at least. He'd just thrown it away because he'd been _so sure_ he'd been right. But he was the architect of his own misery, of this entire enterprise. Cain had missed him, and if Altair hadn't been so worried about being right, afraid of being right or wrong, he would have just let him back in and this never would have happened. And now the crying was the release of all those centuries of tension and lonliness he'd felt because of Cain and Altair couldn't stop.

At some point Cain came and sat next to him. He said nothing, he just sat there and then started to rub his back soothingly like a parent comforting their child. "I won't tell you its okay," Cain said after several minutes, Altair had nearly run out of tears but he was still holding back the sobbing. "But we can fix it, if you want," and after a second Altair nodded.

Cain left him there for a moment, taking the half eaten egg custard with him but came back shortly after. He took Altair's hands and unlocked the shackles, taking them out of the bags he'd tied them in but Altair snatched his hands away, keeping them against his stomach. Cain didn't seem to care if he was being antitouch right now, like he had become, and grabbed his face in one hand and tipped his head up. He used a soft, damp, rag to wipe his face, clean him up, just like he had when he'd quite literally pulled Altair out of a gutter that first time and taken him home to bathe and sober up.

"There we go," Cain said with a warm smile. "C'mon," and he pulled Altair to his feet and then embraced him tightly. Altair grabbed onto him, pressing his face into the tall man's shoulder and the tears came again, quickly soaking his nice waist coat and shirt. Cain didn't seem to mind. "Feeling better?" he asked after they stood there for several minutes and once again Altair's tears ebbed. Altair nodded. "Fantastic, now," and he pushed Altair into his bedroom, "Find something to wear we'll be off as soon as you're ready."

"Off?" Altair asked, "Where are we going?" and it was like no time had passed. One day Cain just woke up and 'get dressed we're leaving' and they went to find some new adventure, some new wonder. Though half the time it was somewhere Altair had made a mention of wanting to visit in passing weeks or months ago.

"It matter?" Cain asked.

"Sort of," Altair said and he felt exhausted from the emotional rush he'd just had. "I'm not a kid anymore-

Cain laughed, "Oh Abel, that is where you'd be _so_ wrong. You'll always be a kid to me. Now hurry up, places to go."

"Where though?"

"France," he said, "I figured Ezio would stay away after the whole gillotine thing," he grimaced, "but we both know he never learns." Altair didn't ask how Cain knew that, of course he did.

"So we're going to see Ezio?"

"Of course we are. You didn't think I don't get a proper introduction to the only other immortals did you?" and Altair hadn't even thought of that. "Now go on, the first ferry is in less than an hour," and he shooed Altair inside.

Altair stood there a moment after Cain had closed the door between him and the bedroom. He needed to get his bearings. He closed his eyes and just breathed a bit. Once he felt calm he opened his eyes and went to find some clothes. For some reason he wasn't surprised Cain had clothes for him, in his exact size, in the colors he liked. He dressed and selected one of the hats Cain had in his size before going back out. Cain was waiting for him with his coat on now.

"Ready?" Cain asked.

Altair felt like he was dreaming. It was like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. But nothing had. He blinked at Cain dumbly before he abruptly pulled himself together, his eyes sharpening. "Yes," he said.

"Good, lets go," and he followed Cain out of the apartment and down the stairs to the bakery and then out into the London streets.

* * *

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So patreon is actually something that if you like me you should do. If you ever say you'd buy a book from me that's great, but I really don't wanna wait to publish a book to maybe not have to work terrible jobs. Saying you'd buy a book I wrote is a promise to support me later; but I need support now too.


	3. The Harold Song

I hope you read to Heron in voices KB

* * *

The Harold Song by Ke$ha

As soon as Desmond touched the Apple he felt a force on his body. A hand on his soul that froze him in place. He moved his eyes, trying to force his body to move. Images flashed through his mind, ancient things and old prophecies. A lot of it didn't make sense. Why? Why?

The force turned him. He could hear Juno talking to him, some more things about prophecy and destiny, but Desmond could barely hear her. It was like he was swimming through mud, his movements slow and forced. He started walking slowly back towards the others. He didn't really call them his friends. He didn't really _have_ friends though. They weren't moving, but rather seemed to be locked in space. Desmond could see their eyes moving.

He was forced forward, and would have fallen and stumbled if the firm hand didn't seem to be around his neck keeping him upright. He shambled on stiff legs closer to them, the guide pushing him towards Lucy first. His hand flexed against his will, his hidden blade came out and images and understanding washed over him.

He saw what would be. He knew that there were Assassins heading towards the temple now, but there were Templars too. Lucy had called them. She'd called them both. They'd come for the Apple, and for Desmond but the faces who shoved him into a van were equally unknown to Desmond. He didn't know if they were friend or foe and he realized: it didn't matter. The future was the same. One way or another he'd be a captive of one of the organizations. Flavor didn't matter, he'd be a prisoner. He saw the Abstergo Eye, what the Templars would do with it, why it'd be bad, and ultimately that it'd fail if Lucy didn't die.

She'd ruin everything. He could feel that in the back of his mind. She will _ruin_everything. But there was something under that he couldn't pick apart. What would she ruin? A plan. What plan?

He was getting closer now. "No," he said softly, looking into Lucy's eyes. She was aware, staring at him, her eyes the only thing that could move, and she was afraid.

What was the point? What was the POINT!? It wasn't going to work! The Eye was a failure. The future painted to Desmond was the same if Lucy lived or died. He'd be strapped in an Animus 'for the good of the cause' by either side. He could feel a low current in his mind and he felt more than saw flashes of Rebecca and Shaun. He knew they were next.

His hand was drawn back and he stared in horror at Lucy. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to do this. He didn't need or want a pointless deaths on his hands! "No," he said again, amazed he could move his mouth. Tears collected at the edge's of Lucy's eyes, she knew he was about to hurt her. He didn't want this. He didn't want this. He didn't want this! HE DIDN'T WANT THIS!

"No!" he yelled as his hand was moved forward to deliver what would be a killing blow and under force of will changed the direction of the strike. He ended up sinking the blade deep into his own abdomen. His body was suddenly under his control again, his body going limp. The Apple fell from his weak fingers and rolled away. He stared at Lucy, breathing hard and she could move now.

"Desmond?" she asked, her eyes wide with shock and face white as milk.

Desmond tried to say something, but all that came up was blood. He knew the feeling of dying. He'd done it a thousand times already in the Animus. He wasn't afraid of death. Blood bubbled from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. "I told you I'd keep you safe," he managed to say and pulled the knife from his stomach. The strike had meant to kill Lucy, so it hadn't just been a stab in the chest, which he could have handle, but also a yank up on his arm, digging the blade through flesh. He'd given himself the wound instead and he could feel his lungs filling with blood.

He managed to stay standing a few seconds more before he collapsed.

"Desmond!" he heard them yell but Lucy was the one who was at his side in an instant.

"What happened?" Shaun yelled.

"Go get the others," Lucy ordered zipping up her jacket.

"But Lucy-

"Go get the others _now_!" she yelled, looking at the two of them, "They should be at the temple entrance. Run." Shaun and Rebecca looked overwhelmed even as Lucy was wriggling out of her shirt under her jacket. Of them only Lucy seemed to have her head together. The techs hesitated a moment before taking off, Rebecca sprinting, Shaun as fast as he could go.

Lucy leaned over him and pressed her shift, now balled up, to his abdomen. "Desmond, Desmond," she said and touched his face.

"I'm alive still," he said, staring up at her.

"What happened?" she asked in a whisper.

"Someone wanted me to hurt you," he said. "I couldn't. I wouldn't," he reached up and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek.

She held them there. "Stay with me," she said, "don't sleep no matter what."

Desmond smiled tiredly, "I won't," he promised. "So long as you stay with me too." Lucy put more pressure on the wound. When Desmond glanced down he saw that her shirt was already deep red from his blood. "Its pretty bad isn't it?"

"You'll be okay," she promised, still holding his hand to her face.

"Promise?"

"I promise. Who'll keep me safe if you're gone?" she asked.

"Fuck, you're right," Desmond said, licking his lips, he tasted a lot of blood. At least being horizontal seemed to be keeping the blood out of his mouth.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Desmond just breathing, looking up at her, Lucy keeping pressure on the wound. Desmond felt himself weakening though. He knew what it felt like to bleed out. To have your life force slowly leave your body. He was feeling that now. Only it was worse because of the Bleeding Effect. He could see Ezio and Altair, like they were crows who'd come to fetch him to the afterlife. "Hey Lucy," he said, looking over her shoulder when they appeared.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"I think I'm hallucinating again," he said.

"No you aren't, kid," Altair said, in English, and he didn't have the same accent he'd had when Desmond had lived as him. He was wearing modern clothes too. He remembered that night where he thought he'd seen Ezio on the rooftops of Monteriggioni.

Lucy turned to see who had spoken. She didn't recognize the two of them like Desmond did. "Where's the Mentor?" she asked.

"Shaun and Rebecca are getting him," Altair said. He knelt next to Lucy and lifted her blood stained shirt from Desmond's chest. "We need to get him out of here. Where's Hawk?"

"Guarding the front," Ezio said. Who was Hawk?

"Who are you?" Lucy asked, "You aren't Assassins."

"Well we aren't Templars either," Altair said, "and that's the only reason you're even alive right now," and Lucy swallowed. Altair removed his sweat shirt and looped it around Desmond and tied it to keep the shirt in place and pressure on the wound. "Lets go, kid," Altair said and picked Desmond up. He groaned in pain. "I know it hurts, you'll be okay. Lets go," he told Ezio.

"Can I come?" Lucy asked. Altair and Ezio exchanged looks. "They'll kill me," she said.

Desmond reached out to her and grabbed her hand. He didn't want anything to happen to her. "You can come," Altair said, "keep up, and don't get in the way. Both sides are probably there by now," and Desmond let go of Lucy's hand as Altair carried him down the dais and through the temple. He did everything in his power to keep his eyes open as Altair jogged carrying him. Wasn't that hard since every step sent a lacing pain through Desmond's chest like he was on fire. But pain was good, it meant he wasn't dead.

They reached a stopping point but Desmond was so out of it by this point he barely knew what was going on. He just knew he hurt. He heard someone else talking but didn't know who and he couldn't hear them very well. Then he was aware them moving through the temple again, but not _out_ of it. At least not out the way he and the others had come.

At some point he was laid down. "He needs a hospital," Ezio said, out of Desmond's vision. He tried to look around but the world was warped and blurry and spinning.

"Then _drive_," Altair said, leaning over him. He realized he was in the back of a van. He felt the van start up and begin to drive away.

"Lucy?" Desmond asked weakly.

"I'm here," Lucy pushed, _pushed_, Altair out of the way to get into his line of sight. She grabbed his hand, "I'm here."

Desmond smiled a little, "Good. Good," he closed his eyes a moment but opened them again so they wouldn't worry. Open eyes meant he was awake, meant he was alive.

"Move girl," Altair said and Lucy moved to the side, though held Desmond's hand. "This'll hurt a second," and he removed the shoddy tourniquet around him and lifted his hoodie and shirt. Desmond gasped when he felt a needle piece his skin. He was breathing hard when Altair finished and knew he was in shock. Well he'd been in shock the entire time but finally he was like 'shit I'm in shock'. "Drive faster," Altair ordered to whoever was driving.

He leaned over Desmond, "Deep breaths kid," he said holding Desmond's face in both hands. His hands were bloody and Desmond could smell his own blood on Altair's hands. "You're going to make it, its only been ten minutes since you were stabbed."

"Hard to breathe," Desmond said and more blood came up from his mouth when he tried to breathe deep like Altair said. He coughed and that hurt his entire body.

"We're here," Ezio announced from the front and someone was opening the back of the van. Altair picked him up and carried him into the the hospital. Ezio was calling in Italian for help and Desmond was placed on a stretcher.

Desmond looked to the side as they quickly wheeled him away. Lucy was standing next to Altair, Ezio, and another man he didn't know. Then they were out of sight and he was being run down a hallway, people talking in loud Italian around him. He finally went unconscious in the ER where they knocked him out to operate.

—

When Desmond came to he was in a white room, by himself, in a hospital and it was dark out. He felt like shit, but he was alive. The man he didn't recognize that had been with Altair and Ezio was sitting in a corner, typing at a laptop. Next to him, curled up in her chair, a hospital blanket draped over her, Lucy was sleeping. How long had he been out for?

He shifted around and took stock of himself. He had a catheter and a bed pan and was hooked up to a bunch of machines that were thankfully not beeping. He hurt like hell, but was breathing on his own.

His movement woke Lucy. She yawned and sketched, the blanket dropping away. Someone had gotten her a new shirt. She looked around blearily then realized Desmond was awake. "Desmond," she said and moved over to his bed.

"Hey," he said. "What happened?"

Lucy looked towards the man and the man was looking back, his face illuminate by the laptop. "They'll explain," she promised, looking back at him. "Its big," she said.

"Where's Shaun and Becca?"

"Not here. They're okay though."

"Who was that? I think I was having a Bleeding hallucination during that. It— it looked like Altair and Ezio."

Lucy said nothing a moment, "It'll all be explained okay?" she touched his head. "Its late now though, you should go back to sleep," she said running her thumb across his forehead, cupping the side of his head.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Desmond asked.

She smiled faintly, "Yes," she said.

"Good," Desmond sighed, tired all the sudden. "I feel awful," he said.

"It'll pass, surgery usually is pretty rough," Desmond nodded slowly. "Go back to sleep," and she kissed his forehead.

"That made me feel better," Desmond said sleepily. He saw her mouth curve into a smile and kiss his cheek. "Man at this rate I'll be good as new in no time."

"Don't push it," she said.

"Have you not met me?" Desmond asked with a tired, cheesy, grin. Lucy leaned over and kissed him on the mouth and while he was slow to reply it was the best thing that had happened to him in _months_. "Good as new," he said when she pulled away.

"Go to sleep," she said gently. "You'll get all the explanation when you wake up."

"Okay," he nodded and she sat with him, holding his hand, gently running her thumb across his knuckles, until he finally did sleep.

* * *

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	4. Centuries

I originally wrote this as a section for Wishbine (a chaoter in Terrible Things) but decided it didn't... fit. But i still really liked it.

I basically do consider this 'canon' of what would have happened if Duncan hadn't killed himself.

* * *

Centuries by Fall Out Boy

It was hot, the middle of summer, and the sun was unbearable. Just, completely unbearable. It was humid and the bugs were out in swarms. Apparently they were in the middle of a heat wave, and it was the hottest summer Desmond could remember.

And he had to go running in it.

That was the problem when you messed up. You were punished. It was completely unfair, but it happened. Desmond had to do _five_ laps around the entire Farm, and the Farm was about a five mile circuit. So that was twenty-five miles. He'd been at it since lunch. He'd disobeyed his teacher when they'd told him to do something. What it had been was inconsequential now. All that mattered was that Desmond hadn't wanted to do it and so he was being punished. If he'd just been any kid it wouldn't have mattered, they would have made him do a lap. But he was Andrew's kid? Son of the Farm's leader? He had to do _five_ laps. Andrew was going to chew him out tonight, he just knew it.

He was running past his house and waved at his brother who was sitting on the back porch working on something in his lap. His brother waved back, also waving a bottle above his head. Water break. He turned and ran towards the back of the house.

"You're going to learn to stay out of trouble one day," Duncan said. Desmond was eleven now, really starting to do the training they were supposed to do. He saw now why Duncan had hated it so much. So much talking about killing. Duncan had hated the martial arts training too though. Desmond didn't, he liked it. He didn't like Duncan seeing him like it though. Duncan always got a disappointed look in his eyes when Desmond was _too_ good or liked going to Forms _too_ much.

"No I won't," Desmond said and took the bottle Duncan offered him, noticing a strange brace on his forearm. Desmond had never seen it before.

"No you won't," Duncan agreed teasingly as Desmond chugged the slightly above body temperature water. "How many more do you have to do?"

"Uh—h," Desmond said intelligently, sputtering, "Two?"

"So done in time for dinner then?"

"Yeah," Desmond said.

"Good. Dad's going to be home for dinner too."

"Great," and they both turned and looked at the back door when they heard the truck pull up, the door opening and closing. "Or sooner," Desmond said with a thread of worry in his voice when the front door slammed shut.

Desmond was sort of afraid of their dad. He never hit Desmond or anything. But yelling was a possibility, or just outright hostility when he heard bad reports about him. When he was disciplined by the teachers Andrew usually locked him in the basement for the night, sometimes two. Desmond had hoped he wouldn't be home tonight so the harsh punishment would wear off. Or at the very least he'd be able to sleep in his own bed after running twenty-five miles in the hot sun. Looked like that was out the window.

"Duncan!" Andrew yelled from inside the house. He didn't sound angry, but Andrew never had any care to give about Duncan. Desmond had often heard Andrew tell Duncan he needed to 'get with the program' and that basically meant 'stop being a failure' in Miles speak. Duncan refused to fight, refused to kill. He was passive. At least when people were looking. They had a dummy down in the basement. Desmond didn't use it for obvious reasons that he hated going down there. Duncan used it though and broke it _at least_ once every five weeks. The only reason Desmond knew was because he usually spent a night in the basement once every five weeks and he'd never seen the same dummy twice. Desmond was smart enough to know that his brother had a lot of issues though he hadn't gone to therapy in nearly two years. When he'd turned seventeen Andrew had said Duncan 'should be over it' because it 'hadn't been that bad'.

"Back porch," Duncan called.

"I should uh— probably get back to my laps," Desmond said.

"I think you've run enough though, don't you?" Duncan asked.

"… Yeah," Desmond said. Duncan also liked to break the rules more than Desmond. Only Duncan never got caught. He was also an adult, there weren't as many rules for him to break. He usually let Desmond break the rules though. Like doing three laps instead of five.

Andrew opened the back door. He had that same look in his eyes as always, a hair away from disappointment. That was a running theme in Desmond's life, especially since Duncan had ended up in the hospital. That he and Duncan were failures. Andrew never said it aloud of course, but Desmond could always see it. Duncan was a cripple, completely blind in one eye, and crippled 'further' by refusing to fight. Desmond on the other hand was a delinquent. He hated rules and being told what to do and always talked back. Andrew blamed Duncan for that since Duncan talked back too and questioned everything and demanded answers. None of the teachers liked that, Andrew liked it less. Duncan sometimes slept in the basement too.

"There you are," Andrew said, looking at Duncan and then his eyes zeroed in on Desmond and Desmond knew he was sleeping in the basement tonight. Crap. "Did you finish your laps?" he asked in a hard tone.

"Yes," he said in a weak voice. He always crumpled in front of their dad. His dad was just so… big. Like he just looked like he knew what he was doing, Desmond didn't even question if he should listen to half the things Andrew said. He did because Andrew was his dad. Duncan used to. He'd stopped recently.

"No you haven't. Go finish them," he pointed out to the perimeter.

"Des its fine," Duncan said, "stay."

"Duncan," Andrew said in a hard voice.

"What?" Duncan asked and pushed himself to his feet. Duncan was taller than their dad. Like really tall, taller than anyone in the Farm. And for a guy who didn't fight he was still super buff and you wouldn't want to take a punch from him. Desmond didn't know what Duncan did while Desmond had classes, but he looked as strong as any of the other girls and boys his age. And Duncan was 'crippled'.

"Can't throw us both in the basement," Duncan sneered. He motioned with one hand to Desmond and Desmond took it. Duncan dragged Desmond into the house. "Go take a shower so you can do the schoolwork you missed."

"Homework after dinner?" Desmond asked. Usually he did it before dinner. He liked having a routine, and always felt weird when it was disrupted.

"Yeah," Duncan said. "Go on," and he gently pushed Desmond towards the bathroom as Andrew came back into the house. Desmond ducked into the bathroom and peered out of the crack in the door when he heard the back door slam. He couldn't see anything from this angle and so far there was no fighting. So far.

Desmond undressed to shower and as he was getting clean he heard the fight start. Or probably not start. Andrew and Duncan always argued in inside speaking voices with clenched teeth and hard tones. Since Duncan had stopped going to Lisa it happened more. Desmond sleeping in Duncan's bed that night always happened those nights too, at least nights Duncan didn't sleep in the basement. Duncan would hold him so tight it hurt those nights until he fell asleep and relaxed. But this wasn't like those fights.

Sometimes Andrew yelled at Desmond because he knew it scared Desmond and he'd get angry and yell and Desmond would behave for a few weeks before he started mouthing off again. But Andrew didn't yell at Duncan because Duncan didn't respond to it. Andrew couldn't scare Duncan. But tonight they were yelling. So loud Desmond could hear it through the walls, but not what they were saying.

He started when he heard a bang.

Desmond scrambled out of the shower, still covered in suds and grabbed a towel before lurching out of the bathroom and down the hall. His throat closed up at what he saw.

They weren't yelling anymore. But they were _definitely_ fighting. Punching at each other and kicking like Desmond learned in Forms. Only a lot faster, and a lot more like they meant it too. He flinched back when Andrew hit Duncan sending him crashing into a wall, that was the bang he'd heard. Duncan shook himself and peeled himself off the wall and Desmond's eyes widened when Duncan literally cleared three feet when he jumped and tackled Andrew so they both crashed to the ground.

Desmond watched, his mouth open, as Duncan punched Andrew in the face. Not the head, the face like they were trained to do in Forms. You were only supposed to hit someone in the face if you actually wanted to hurt them. The punch made Andrew's head go all cockeyed. Then Duncan raised his left hand, the one with the brace, and a knife appeared under his fingers. Desmond gasped a little when Duncan brought the knife down right into Andrew's throat. Then he did it again, and again, and several more times but Desmond was looking away, curled up into a ball and shaking, holding his knees to his eyes. He could still hear the sound of the blade meeting flesh repeatedly and tears leaked from his eyes against his knees.

Then the only sound in the room was Duncan's heavy breathing and then a long, relaxed sounding sigh. More like a sigh of relief. Desmond still wasn't looking but he heard Duncan get up. "Now who's the cripple, _dad_?" Duncan asked and then there was a strangely calm silence. "Ah crap," he said, the calm broken and Desmond knew he'd been seen. "Crap."

Desmond clutched tighter to his legs when Duncan walked over to him but not next to him. "Hey, D," Duncan said gently and Desmond peered at him from his legs, shaking. Duncan was crouched a few feet away, his eyes and body language gentle. The knife was gone and the only blood on him was on his left wrist and around the brace he was wearing. Desmond scooted away from him. "Hey now," Duncan dropped onto his knees and half crawled over to him.

"C'mon, c'mere. It's okay, its okay," he shushed and grabbed Desmond who tried to scramble away. But he was too slow and too weak to get out of Duncan's grip. Duncan ended up wrapping his arms around him. Desmond struggled a little. He'd just watched his brother _murder_ their dad. It wasn't okay. It wasn't okay! "I'm not going to hurt you," Duncan said gently, pulling a still struggling Desmond into his lap. "No one's going to hurt you anymore," he held Desmond to him until he stopped struggling. "He won't hurt you anymore."

"You killed dad," his voice was gone and he sort of squeaked it.

"Yeah… yeah I did," Duncan breathed and Desmond didn't have to look to see the relief on Duncan's face. The bliss in it, but not happiness or joy. It was a release. "And now he can't hurt us anymore," Duncan kissed the top of Desmond's head. "None of these people are going to hurt us anymore," another kiss.

"Won't you get in trouble?" Desmond asked, voice trembling. He was old enough to know what treason was and that in their little community what Duncan had done was so so so _so_ bad.

"Yes," Duncan said softly. "But it'll be okay," he promised.

"How?" Desmond asked.

"We're not staying here anymore," Duncan said, and pressed his cheek onto Desmond's head. "I can't let you stay here anymore. I _refuse_," he said angrily. Duncan stood and dragged Desmond with him. "Finish your shower and then you need to pack a bag to leave. Like how Charlie showed you in case of an emergency."

"Duncan—

"Yeah?" Duncan asked him gently. The violence and rage he'd directed at their father wasn't even a shadow. It literally wasn't there. Desmond never thought for even an instant that Duncan would ever hurt him. Not ever.

"I love you," he said.

Duncan smiled at him, "Love you too, D. Now go finish your shower," and he pushed Desmond towards the shower. Desmond went, and finished cleaning off. He packed his bag and saw that Duncan had also showered, using the master shower in their parents' room.

Duncan was in the car out front and Desmond got in. He kinda ducked down since he wasn't supposed to leave the Farm without their dad's permission. Duncan left the Farm all the time though. He was usually the one who did supply runs to Hill City or if they needed other stuff all the way up to Rapid City. None of the adults liked leaving the Farm for that sort of stuff. They were all too paranoid.

"Duncan," Desmond said as they were driving down the dirt road that lead to the highway, "where are we going?"

Duncan didn't take his eye off the road, "Somewhere far away from here," he said. "Turn on the radio, lets listen to some music."

"Music?" Desmond asked, he didn't know what music was. There was no music in the Farm.

"Yeah, music, go on," and Desmond reached over to tune the radio and found a station. They sat in silence and listened to the radio, Desmond listening to it intently. It was the first time he'd ever heard music.

"This is amazing," Desmond said after they'd listened to a song or two.

Duncan laughed, "Des," he said, "You have _no_ idea what its like out here. Its amazing. Everything is amazing."

"Are we going to see it?" Desmond asked.

Duncan smiled at him, taking his eye off the road for a moment, "Yeah. We are." Desmond smiled and sat back, the thoughts about worrying about their abusive dad had already left his mind. It was just Duncan and him now, and they were going to be okay.


End file.
